


it (2017) fluff fics

by neville



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Coffee Shops, Ficlet Collection, Haunted Houses, Holding Hands, M/M, One Shot Collection, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 19:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20606027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neville/pseuds/neville
Summary: Various It fluff fics and drabbles I wrote after seeing the first movie.





	1. kingfisher (stan/richie)

**Author's Note:**

> a collection of all the fics i wrote & posted on tumblr in 2017. read them over again after watching the second movie and enjoyed them a lot so i thought i'd put them up here! hope u enjoy :)
> 
> chap 1 is a coffee shop au!

As a college student, it’s customary of Richie to swing by the local coffee shop before his classes, and the closest and cheapest within walking distance is a cute arthouse café where his barista is always a soft-eyed boy around the same age as him with a mess of curls and a rotating set of bird memorabilia, from cockatiel hair clips to kingfisher badges. 

He greets Richie with the easy smile he saves for regulars. “The usual?” he asks, and Richie always nods. “What name will you be using today?”

Richie’s a man of many names in this shop, and it gives him a rare flash of power over his sharp-witted barista to come armed with a variety of aliases to counter Stan’s simple name. “Count Dracula,” he decides, and Stan writes it neatly on the cup with architect handwriting. 

“I hope that doesn’t reflect how you’re feeling,” he says as he starts up the growling machine that makes Richie’s coffee. “I’m very fond of my blood.” 

“You’ll be okay,” Richie says. “Your special today’s some kind of weird garlic flatbread. I’d be repelled by the disgustingness of flatbread.” 

“Uh-huh. God forbid I get the flatbread too close to you.” Stan is grinning as he passes the takeaway cup to Richie, anyway, the chemistry between them months-easy. “Okay. Have a nice day, Count.” 

“_One coffee, ha-ha-ha…_” 

Richie returns the next day, and Stan almost misses his entrance - Richie’s confidence is palpable and always signals his arrival, but he walks in like he’s been muted, shyly entering with the ring of the bell over the door. 

“Hey there,” Stan says, finishing adjusting the traybake display. “Let me guess. Hazelnut latte?” 

“You got it,” Richie nods, leaning his elbows on the counter as Stan grabs a cup, marking it in his traditional green Sharpie. “Name?” 

Richie shifts. “Richie Tozier, T-O-Z-I-E-R.”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “I can spell, thank you,” and as he writes, he comes to a slow and slightly unsteady halt, the gears in his head tucked underneath his curls finally grinding. “Richie, huh? Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Richie says bashfully, watching as Stan carries on with effortless ease, as if nothing has happened; he takes Richie’s stamp card and lets him have the coffee for free (Richie loves this place), and makes it with the machine that sounds like it’s being tortured. He passes over the coffee with a playful smile. “See you round, Richie. Have a nice day.”

“You too, Stan,” Richie says, bewildered, pushing open the ringing door and stepping out into the bright of the street, popping in his earphones in time for Phoenix’s _Girlfriend_. 

He leans in to take a drink, and stops; an unstoppable joy spreads through his stomach like a Crayola-yellow sun. 

Stan’s number is written on the lid.


	2. comeback kid (stan/richie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a fic where stan is sick

Richie’s a sweetheart when one of the others is ill, and Stan attributes it to spending too much time with Eddie. 

It’s not that Stan’s _dying_, or anything - he just has a particularly unpleasant cold and his nose is running so fervently that he’s made a fortress out of tissues, but Richie comes over anyway to tuck Stan into his chair under his blanket and make him hot cocoa and fetch the tub of ice cream out from the freezer for Stan’s scratchy throat. 

“You didn’t miss much at school today,” Richie says as he takes the chair next to Stan’s, his dad’s fairly modest armchair. “Except they said we were gonna get our vaccines next week and Eddie freaked out and started crying. What a baby, right? I mean, they’re over so soon.” 

“They’re sore, though,” Stan says, shivering at a sudden wave of ice cream-induced chill. “And you can’t move your arm for a while.” 

“Yeah,” Richie agrees. He pauses. “I hope you get better soon. Eddie’s comebacks are shitty.” 

Stan raises his eyebrows. “Is that all I am to you? A comeback generator? I know I’m good at it, Richie, but come on.” He grins, never good at faking for long. 

“Hey, c’mon, you know I like you!”

“I know, I know.”

Richie lets out a breath and leans his head against the back of the chair, shifting. “I wish you weren’t sick so we could make out all the time and gross out Eddie.” 

“And that’s the only reason you want to make out with me?”

Richie blushes; Stan’s just too good at this game. “I like you, too, but come on, don’t you see the look on his face when people are kissing? Like they’re walking infections! _Hi, Eddie, I’m Kissing, and I’m gonna give you herpes and fuck your life up_!”

Stan laughs and coughs simultaneously, which he washes down with some water and ice cream. “It’s a shame you’re not as romantic as Bill and Mike. Then we could really gross him out, like on Valentine’s Day…” 

“Holy shit, that would be amazing,” Richie gasps, eyes alight with troublemaking. “But hey, who says I’m not romantic? I came over and got you ice cream!”

“From my freezer.” Richie huffs, pushing himself up and off the seat, storming determinedly up to Stan before leaning over him half-smugly. Stan looks back quizzically. 

“This isn’t romantic, you’re just going to get my cold,” he points out. 

“So?” Richie shrugs, and kisses him; it’s a little too hot because Stan is flush with fever, but he melts into it, comfortable pressed up against Richie in a way he never feels anywhere else. 

He breaks away far too soon, breathless.

“My nose is blocked,” he says, offended. “You tried to kill me! With your mouth!”

“And you say I’m not romantic!”

Stan rolls his eyes. “Fine, you’re a slightly dangerous romantic whom I like a lot and don’t mind staying over in my house. Is that alright?

”Richie’s features are so soft, just in that moment. “Do you mean that?”

Stan doesn’t lie; he never would. “Yeah.”


	3. you make my heart sing (stan/bill)

Stan falls in love with Bill too fast and all at once: he falls in love at band practice and his fingers stutter over his flute when he catches Bill’s concentrated frown; falls in love at the bleachers after baseball practise; falls in love with every pedal of their bicycles on the way home; falls in love curled over math homework in Bill’s bedroom where they spend more time making paper planes and boats for Georgie than really working.  
  
And the world spins when they’re in Stan’s room and the radio is station is playing Wild Thing and Bill looks at Stan with such certainty and kisses him across the bedsheets they’re sprawled on, a tangle of teenage limbs.  
  
He falls in love with Bill over cinema dates and bird watching and holding hands; falls in love making hot cocoa in the winter and with Bill’s laugh that comes out white in the cold and with the way he pushes his hands into the pockets of his puffy jacket.  
  
When Bill says “Stanley Uris, you mean the world to me”, Stan melts.  
  
He’s just so in love.


	4. onward (stan/eddie & mike/richie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eddie ends up holding hands with a stranger at a haunted house.

Eddie Kaspbrak hates haunted houses.

He’s scared of everything, really; the slightest creak of the floorboards in his house sets his hand grasping for his inhaler, and so the idea of traversing the corridors of an institution meant purely to scare the shit out of him isn’t one that he’s particularly fond of. 

The problem being that Richie Tozier _loves_ haunted houses, and Eddie owes Richie a favour (well, Richie bought them both lunch and so Eddie should theoretically therefore buy lunch the next time, but he’s flexible on favours), so he feels like it’s his _duty_ to go. Making sure that he packs both his inhaler, spare inhaler, and that Richie has one, too, of course. 

He watches horror films to prepare - those he can stomach, of course, but that doesn’t stop the lingering sense of dread that pervades the day, nor the abject fear that makes his heart pound as he enters. He knows _feasibly _that they’re just people dressed up -

but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to shit himself, that’s for sure. 

Richie is overconfident and cocky, and Eddie lags behind, his legs stiff and frozen; every jump-scare pins him to the floor for a horrible moment, and he feels like the fear in his chest is going to just swallow him whole.

Someone behind him screams, and the spell breaks for a moment as he spins round just in time for another boy to ram into him, grabbing at his arms, eyes wide as saucers. From what Eddie can tell in the dark, the boy is cute, with curly hair, but his face mirrors Eddie’s terror, as does his vice grip.

“Shit, sorry,” the boy says in a rush; he’s not really a _boy_, per se, a teenager about the same age as Eddie, but the way he screams reminds Eddie of a shrill-voiced five-year-old. “I - I don’t wanna be here, I’m scared.” 

“Me neither,” Eddie says nervously, winding his hand in the boy’s. “My friend Richie dragged me here. I wanna go home.” 

“Me too,” the boy says. “Um, by the way, I’m Stan.”

“I’m Eddie,” Eddie replies, beginning to nervously edge toward the door, Stan following along beside him, shaking. “In case I have an asthma attack and something bad happens, everything important’s in my fanny pack - and my inhaler, too.” 

“Okay,” says Stan, who somehow manages not to sound surprised by this premonition of death (maybe he’s heard them before, thinks Eddie; maybe he’s not Stan’s first hypochondriac). “Right. Just a few more rooms. Just a few more rooms. We can do this.” 

“We can do this,” Eddie repeats, and they make their way through the door, Stan’s grip loosening ever so slightly for a moment - that is, of course, until they’re next jumped out on, at which point he disappears cowering behind Eddie, who’s edging back onto Stan, terrified. “We’ve only got a few more rooms, you said?” he whimpers, squeezing Stan’s hand. “Okay. Okay. As Richie would say, we should go _onward_.” 

“I just want to curl up on the floor,” Stan says matter-of-factly as they push forward with renewed determination; and, though Eddie’s not sure he notices much at the time considering he’s scared out of his skin, but it almost cools off as they hold each other, trying desperately to somehow egg each other on and motivate each other. 

And when they make it out the end, despite the fact that they technically don’t know each other and all they know is the way their heartbeats sound when they’re terrified, it’s like they’ve just climbed a mountain, and Eddie flings himself into a hug, arms tight around Stan, who holds him just as firmly back.

“We did it,” he says in a whisper. “Out of the scary house, Eddie; we’re out of the scary house. We’re never doing this again. Don’t let anyone talk you into it.” 

“I won’t,” Eddie assures Stan, and himself. “I won’t.” 

When Eddie tries to locate his former companion, he sees Richie in the corner clearly flirting with someone Eddie doesn’t recognise; and so he turns back to Stan, pulling a mini-size bottle of water from his fanny pack and taking a long gulp before offering it to Stan. 

“Thanks,” Stan says, sounding relieved as he has a long drink. “I can’t believe we really made it.” 

“Thank you for helping me,” Eddie says earnestly, grinning. “I think I would’ve just - you know, curled up on the floor or something, and not moved.” 

“Thanks for keeping on walking,” Stan nods, smiling right back; he pauses as he catches his hand lingering over Eddie’s, and he blushes a little, though it’s hard to tell, his face still red with shouting and nerves. “Do you want to go and get something to eat before we go home?”

“God yeah, I’m starving!” Eddie perks up immediately, turning to search for Richie. “Being scared burns calories - hold on, let me go get my friend, Richie… he’s the asshole who brought me here.”

“Can I punch him for you?” Stan offers brightly, and Eddie laughs. 

“Not yet,” he says, hurrying over to Richie, who appears to be using his Certified Flirting Technique (which Eddie has been taught over and over, yet never used for obvious reasons). “Hey, I’m going to go get something to eat with this guy, Stan. You two wanna come along?”

“Sure,” Richie nods, turning to his new companion. “Mike?” 

“Sounds good to me,” Mike agrees, sauntering along with Richie, exuding that same aura of fearlessness and calmness, like a zen master in the art of not being bothered by people dressed up as clowns or vampires or zombies. “You’re Eddie?” 

“Uh-huh.”

“You make it through okay?” 

“Yeah. Mostly thanks to Stan.” 

Mike catches Richie’s eye, and grins. “Yeah. He’s scared, too. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought him with; I didn’t know…” 

“We’re never coming back,” Eddie says pointedly. “Never. Not for anything or any_one_.” 

He wouldn’t even go back to hold hands with Stan, that’s for sure; no, next time, he thinks he’ll hold hands with Stan somewhere normal, like over coffee, and he thinks he wants to get to know Stan better than just his heartbeat. 

Little does he know, Stan feels the same.


End file.
